


Scenes from Kirkwall and Beyond

by RandomnonsenseDA (B1nary_S0lo)



Series: Ilora Hawke [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Backstory, Brother-Sister Relationships, Childhood, Family, Flash Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Male-Female Friendship, Past Anders/Hawke, Past Character Death, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 09:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B1nary_S0lo/pseuds/RandomnonsenseDA
Summary: Short, prompted pieces and flash fics about my primary canon Hawke, her friends, and loved ones. Stories are in in-universe chronological order (not in the order they were written) and take place at various points in the timeline of Ilora Hawke's series.





	1. A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Originally wanted to wait until I had more of these stories before posting (ones actually set in Kirkwall, even), but now I just want to get them off Tumblr and on to AO3 so they're backed up ^^;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about a year after "The Best Days," when Hawke is about five.
> 
> Written for day 1 of Family Week 2018 over on Tumblr. The theme for this day was "Birth."

“There’s my girl,” Ilora’s papa said. She giggled as he scooped her up and sat her down on his knee. “Come meet your new brother and sister, Carver and Bethany.”

Ilora’s eyes widened. Mama lay in the bed, cradling a tiny baby on either side of her. They were sleeping. Ilora leaned slightly forward in Papa’s lap.

“Careful, now,” Mama said. She sounded tired, but she was smiling.

“Can I hold them?” Ilora said. Her voice was quiet. She was too awed to be noisy.

“When they’re older,” her mama said. Kind, but firm.

“You’re a big sister now,” Papa said, voice rumbling behind her. “That means you have an important job to do. You have to keep your little brother and sister safe. Can you do that, Ilora?”

Ilora nodded solemnly, still looking at the babies, who were so small. She knew then she would keep her promise. She would protect them no matter what.


	2. "Digging your fingers into fresh dirt"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place years after "The Best Days" and years before "Partners." Hawke and Carver are twelve and seven, respectively.

Ilora was bent, fingers in the dirt of the garden behind her family’s cottage, when she heard the footsteps. She looked up just in time to see Carver dash past her, running like a shot into the nearby woods.

“Carver?” She jumped to her feet, wiping the dirt off on her rough skirt. “Carver!”

She took off after him. She didn’t see him once she was in the woods, and she sighed, slapping her hands together as she looked around. How was a seven-year-old so fast?

But she didn’t have to search long. A loud  _thwack! thwack!_ rose up from deeper in the woods. Ilora shook her head, gathered up her skirts, and ran toward the sound.

Sure enough, she found her brother attacking a tree with a large stick. He hit the side of the tree over and over again— _thwack! thwack!—_ so hard that he jolted back with each blow. Ilora was surprised the stick hadn’t broken. She took a step forward.

“Hey.  _Hey._ What’s wrong?”

He paused, then turned around. Tears streamed from his eyes and snot streamed out of his nose. He sniffed and roughly wiped his face.

“Nothing,” he said, glaring.

“You’re just angry with that tree, then?”

“No. That’s stupid.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

Carver turned his glare from her to the ground. “Papa said…”

“Papa said what?”

He looked up, face red and scrunched. “Papa said I couldn’t come practice with him and Bethany.” Then he burst into fresh tears.

Ilora crossed the space and wrapped her arms around him. He dropped the stick and buried his face in her skirts as he cried. She patted him on the back.

“Listen. It can’t be that bad,” she said.

“Yes it  _can_!” His voice was muffled.

“You _know_ why you’re not allowed to practice with Papa and Bethany.”

“…cuz they’re learning magic…” he mumbled.

“That’s right. They’re not trying to leave you out.”

“But it’s not  _fair!_ ”

Ilora rolled her eyes heavenward as her brother cried harder into her skirt.

“Hey.” She gave him another pat on the back, this time to get his attention. “Come work in the garden with me.”

“That’s boring.”

“I’ll teach you a new move if you help me.”

Carver looked up. “Really?”

“Of course. Come on.”

She stepped back and offered him her hand. He took it, swiping at his snotty nose with his other arm. They headed back to the house. If Carver noticed the dirt on Ilora’s hands, he didn’t complain about it.


	3. "Moths in a forgotten shed"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place around the same time as "Partners."
> 
> CW: past character death, creepy stuff with bugs (?)

On the ship Ilora dreamed a memory of moths. She was about twelve, which meant Carver would have been seven. It must have happened after Bethany began training with their father. That would explain her absence.

It had been just Ilora and Carver wandering around the old farm. Looking for their mother, maybe? Ilora remembered the crunch of dry grass, summer heat on her skin, and Carver’s small, sweaty hand in her own. He was little enough then to hold her hand without protest.

The shed stood just at the edge of their land, right after the tall grass and before the eerie woods. It was tiny, lopsided from age and barely big enough to hold more than one person. Ilora didn’t think her family ever kept anything in there, and yet with the confidence of an older sister she reached out and pulled the door open. The minute she did they were overwhelmed by a dusty, winged brown cloud.

They screamed. Carver sank to the ground, hands over his head, and Ilora followed him, shielding him with her body. The cloud of moths whirled past them. It must have taken seconds for them to go but it felt like an eternity of dusty wings and creeping legs.

When they were gone Carver rocked back and forth in his kneeled position, sobbing that some of the bugs had gotten in his mouth. Ilora hugged him as he coughed and spit. “Sorry, Carver. Sorry. I didn’t know.” But he was rigid in her arms and nothing she said or did consoled him.

In the dream, the moths didn’t go. They thickened until Ilora couldn’t breathe or see. Carver’s hand slipped from her own. She heard her brother’s screams and sobs, but when she reached for him her fist closed on nothing but papery wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering why are there two whole stories about young Hawke and Carver here? Simple: A) I'm obsessed with any given Hawke's relationship with their dead sibling, since we don't get to see them interact much in game, B) I'm obsessed with Carver Hawke, C) I've yet to write an effective longer story about Ilora and Carver interacting as adults and keep writing these shorts about them as kids instead. Now you know ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. "Meeting a friend's other best friend"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the Inquisition era.
> 
> CW: depression, past character deaths, broken up Hawke x Anders (*he's* not dead, though, don't worry)

It was past midnight when Hawke and Varric made their way across the Skyhold courtyard from the tavern. Most of the lamps in the fortress had been put out, but Varric seemed to know the way.

“See, Hawke?” he said as they walked. “Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? Wouldn’t you have regretted it if you hadn’t?”

Hawke grinned and shrugged. “When you’re right your right, I suppose,” she said. “Though I may feel differently when I’m riding to Crestwood tomorrow.”

Varric waved his hand dismissively. “You had fun, and that’s what matters,” he said. “I’m glad you were able to meet so many of the inner circle.”

“They seem like good people.” She nudged him. “And you seem to enjoy their company.”

“Well, you know I like my oddballs,” he said with a chuckle.

“Of course I—”

The grass rustled ahead of them, disturbed by the faint sound of footsteps. She and Varric paused as the footsteps neared, and a strangely silhouetted figure materialized from the shadows.

“Oh,” Varric said. “Kid. I’m glad you showed up. This is Hawke, a friend of mine.”

Hawke, eyes still adjusting to the dark, squinted. The figure was a man, taller than her and skinny, with lanky hair and a large hat that shadowed his face. He stopped in front of them.

“Happy,” the man said. His voice was light, young. “Laughing at the table with the others. She hasn’t laughed in so long. But will it last?”

Varric cleared his throat, chuckled.

“Hawke,” he said. “This is Cole. He’s um, well, it’s hard to explain.” He addressed the young man. “Say hello to Hawke, Cole.”

Hawke, bemused, reached out a hand. The young man stared at it, as if not sure what to do, then took the offered hand. His skin was papery, neither hot nor cold. Hawke had the oddest feeling that it wasn’t quite there.

“It’s nice to meet another friend of Varric’s,” she said, ignoring her uneasiness.

“Hello,” Cole replied. He dropped her hand, then spoke again. “Warmth, gladness. They all know each other, trust each other. Like we did. Like I did. Pain.”

Hawke looked at Varric, frowning in confusion.

“He does this,” Varric said, in an undertone. “Nothing to worry about. Well, anyway, goodnight, Kid.”

They walked past Cole, Varric giving him a pat on the arm as they passed. Cole rubbed the spot where Varric had patted him, watched them go.

“He is inside,” Cole said. “But I am apart, outside the warmth. Carver, Mother, Bethany, Anders… They always leave.”

Breath caught in Hawke’s throat, a small gasp. She reached reflexively for Varric’s sleeve.

“It’s okay,” he said, as they walked away. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” He hesitated, looked over at her. “You’re not alone, Hawke. Really. Do you know that?”

Hawke nodded, but didn’t speak. She squeezed Varric’s sleeve as they walked through the darkness.


End file.
